on the compensation of autumn

Given the fact that I've never actually lived in the city, I cannot figure out what makes me miss New York so much. Perhaps it is something I caught on the Hudson, a cool breeze that crept in through a window slightly ajar one happy winter in West Point. Perhaps it's more deeply rooted, genetic strands woven into a sharp young man who saved, near the turn of another century, his school lunch money for a far more delicious meal from the hot dog vendor (and kept a few important pennies in the doing). Anyhow. The longing is there.

Looking at these pictures, I realize it can be oddly gray. But that just makes the missing it, somehow, more intense. The city is beautiful even in grayness.

Winter there may not be easy.

But doesn't Autumn compensate?

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